Chenoweth

I’ve followed athletes’ foibles since Walter Camp began To pick foot-ball immortals for “The All-American,” But close as I’ve observed them at home, abroad, afar, I’m sure that “Texas” Chenoweth is easily the star Of all elusive “quarters” who ever tried to squirm On foot-ball field deceptive; on footing wet or firm. He twists just like a serpent; he’s cunning as a fox; He runs as from a creditor; he’s mighty hard to box. He’s slippery as an oyster; he’s fleeter than a deer; He dodges like a debtor; he jumps now there, now here. I’ve seen DeSaulles cavorting from this goal unto that; To “Phil” King I’ve paid homage; to Daly doffed my hat. “Brown’s” Sprackling was a wonder; Carl Williams was a peach; To Poe, finesse in foot-ball was very hard to teach. Out West there was a wonder named Walter Eckersall; Old Bray, the Easton wonder, was a terror with the ball. And so, ad infinitum, I might enumerate The gamut of the heroes who really scintillate In firmament of foot-ball, the king of out-door sport, When put to the defensive, to really show one’s forte, But in quaffing to those heroes who’re destined e’er to shine, Or in toasting to great “quarters” in retrospective wine, I’ll just defer to Kipling and attempt to plagiarize Those lines of his so potent, and not philosophize Here’s to ’Weth, ’Weth, ’Weth, Chenoweth, You doughty little “quarter,” get your breath, Though they’ve tackled, mauled and flayed you, And in Earth’s dank mud have laid you, You’ve “got ’em shooting ducks,” “Tex” Chenoweth.

Philadelphia Lehigh Club “NEWS,” January 1914.